


One Big Fucking Headache

by sluttytonystark



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Iron dad and Spider son, Nightmares, Not Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Peter Parker is Tony Stark's Biological Child, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Take it thots - Freeform, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, We're all sluts for irondad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-09
Updated: 2019-03-09
Packaged: 2019-11-14 06:19:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18047168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sluttytonystark/pseuds/sluttytonystark
Summary: Tony Stark wants it on record, that since he met his son all those years ago, he had tried and tried, to give Peter the closest thing to a normal life he could get. He also wants it on record, that for the first eleven years, he had succeeded in this. Even with the hecticness of switching between his father’s place and his aunt’s and uncle’s place every other week, Peter Parker had had a normal life outside of the public eye, his father’s fame, his father’s moonlighting as a superhero, and the Avengers.In all reality, it wasn’t even Tony’s fault-- and no, he was not above blaming his child for this mess, because it was Peter’s fault. Had it not been for the kid's recklessness, the kid would have been home that weekend. Away from the compound, and away from the Avengers. But, if there was one thing Tony Stark had learned in all his years, it was that things never went to plan.Ever.





	One Big Fucking Headache

**Author's Note:**

> yikes I promised y'all more iron dad content and then I took a fat week to actually write it like dang, my b guys. 
> 
> I hope y'all enjoy this, I cry easily.

    Tony Stark wants it on record, that since he met his son all those years ago, he had tried and tried, to give Peter the closest thing to a normal life he could get. He also wants it on record, that for the first eleven years, he had succeeded in this. Even with the hecticness of switching between his father’s place and his aunt’s and uncle’s place every other week, Peter Parker had had a normal life outside of the public eye, his father’s fame, his father’s moonlighting as a superhero, and the Avengers.

 

     In all reality, it wasn’t even Tony’s fault-- and no, he was not above blaming his child for this mess, because it _was_ Peter’s fault. Had it not been for the kid's recklessness, the kid would have been home that weekend. Away from the compound, and away from the Avengers. But, if there was one thing Tony Stark had learned in all his years, it was that things never went to plan.

 

     _Ever._

    

    Honestly, it was a constant struggle for him.

 

    He'd been going on his twelfth consecutive hour in his lab, when Friday cut out the blaring music playing over the speakers to announce the arrival of May and Peter Parker at the tower.

 

   Tony looked up from his latest project, brow creasing. “What?” He said, “Is it Monday already?”

 

    “No boss, it is currently four thirty-two P.M. on Friday.”

 

    “Huh.”

 

    He glanced around his lab, beginning to put things away in preparation for their arrival.

“Well,” he said, “let them down when they’re ready.”

 

   “Will do.”

 

    It wasn’t a minute later that a very frazzled looking May walked in with Peter trailing behind, holding his Spider-Man suit.

 

    “Tony, you need to take your kid for the weekend,” May announced, shooting a look at the teenager.

 

    Tony raised an eyebrow, “Ah, so now he's just _my_ kid.” He fixed his son with a pointed look, “What'd you do, kid?”

 

   Peter looked around sheepishly. “Uhh, I might've stayed out a _little_ past curfew...”

 

_Oh, well that wasn't that bad._

 

   “... _And_ I kind of hacked into the suit again.”

 

     _Okay, scratch that first part._

 

    “And I might've gotten stabbed. Just a little bit--”

 

   _Jesus Christ._

 

    “Just a little bit?” May cried, “Peter, for god’s sake, you came home with a stab wound and you didn't think to tell anybody?”

 

    Tony rushed to his Peter's side, fussing over him like a mother doting on her hurt toddler.

 

    Peter rolled his eyes, huffing indignantly. “I'm _fine,_ Dad. It was just a shoulder wound-- _and_ it was already healing when I got home.”

 

    Once assured that the kid wasn't somehow hiding any injuries, he stepped away, pinching the bridge of his nose.

 

    “Jesus Christ kid, what were you-- nevermind. Just, give me the suit and go sit down at your desk or something. Let me talk to your aunt.”

 

    Peter did so, sulking greatly, and Tony had half a mind to remind him that he'd only brought this on himself. He didn't, but he made a point to remember to give the kid one hell of a lecture later on.

 

     Once the spider kid was over at his desk, and out of earshot (or as close to out of earshot you can get with enhanced teenagers), he turned back to May.

 

   “So…” he started, “Is this a thing, just hoisting the kid off on each other whenever we're upset with him? Because if I had known that, I would've done that.”

 

    May rolled her eyes. “No, I told you, I was going out of town for a work function during Peter’s spring break.”

 

    Tony racked through his memories trying to recall such a conversation, his mouth making an ‘O’ when he did eventually remember. _Shit._ Did he tell her he would take Peter early?

 

   May went on. “I _was_ just going to let him stay home Saturday and Sunday, you know he's old enough to take care of himself, and he was going to stay with you starting Monday anyways… but after this?”

 

    Tony nodded, knowing how she felt.

 

    May sighed, “I mean, I just don't want to be coming home and finding out he went out and got himself shot or something.”

 

    “Yeah, he's a great kid, but he's got the self-preservation skills of, oh I don't know… Me!”

 

   He recoiled at the thought, “Oh my God, that's where he gets this shit from! It’s me, isn't it?”

 

    From across the lab, Peter yelled: “You're a great influence, Dad!”

 

   Tony rolled his eyes but let the comment pass.

 

    May frowned. “So you understand the problem?” She said, giving him an expectant look.

 

  Tony brought his hand to his head, rubbing at the ever permanent, Peter caused headache.

 

  “May…” he started, “You know I'd love to, Peter's welcome here anytime, but-- You've seen the news, right? The rouge avengers are back upstate, and I was gonna head up there to discuss things this weekend…”

 

    He looked to May, hoping that she understood, but she just raised an eyebrow at him, daring him to continue with his excuses.

 

   “Look, I do have a room there for him-- but May, you know how I feel about Peter meeting the team.”

 

   “So?” She snapped, “You know how _I_ feel about Peter going out in pajamas every night, and _I've_ allowed it.”

 

  Tony took a step back, hands up in a placating manner, and she sighed.

 

   “I know how you feel about it, and I've even agreed with you in the past but, Tony, he's already out there risking his life every night, do you really think the Avengers are going to be any sort of threat to him?”

 

  When Tony still looked unsure, she added “Please, Tony. I really don't feel comfortable leaving him home all weekend.”

 

  Tony took a long breath, he really wasn't going to win this one, and he knew it.

 

  “Fine, fine, you know what? That's just fine.” He raised his voice, directing his words to Peter. “Kid, pack your shit, we're going upstate.”

 

    Peter cheered.

 

\--

 

    The next morning found the father and son on the road at the ungodly hour of nine, which, by normal standards isn't ungodly at all-- but Tony Stark had found that his circadian rhythm had synced up with a nearby raccoon some time ago. Of course, the apple never did fall far from the tree, which led to Peter's insistent whining about being up so early on a weekend, after staying up for who knows how long.

 

    He had explained to the kid that the Avengers meeting he was supposed to be going to started at ten, and really, they should have left an hour earlier if he was going to get there in time.

 

   Peter had nothing to complain about either. He was fifteen; he had the benefits of being able to sleep through car rides. That's what he did too, damn kid slept for the first hour and a half, and left Tony to stay awake talking to himself, or whatever people did on long car rides by themselves.

 

   He didn’t sleep the whole time, though. Peter woke up with an hour and a half still left to go. That wasn't that long, he'd had longer plane rides. But knowing that he could have taken a suit and gotten their _much_ faster kinda put a negative spin on things. There were also the questions-- questions that he knew that Peter knew the answer to already, but asked about anyways.

 

    “So…” He said, “Am I gonna be allowed to meet the Avengers?”

 

    Tony's grip tightened on the steering wheel. “No.” He said, “Absolutely not.”

 

    “Why not?”

 

    “Pete, a big reason why your mother didn’t want me in your life at first, was because she wanted you to be a normal kid.”

    

    Peter stiffen in the seat next to him. The topic of his father’s absence for the first four years of his life was a touchy subject for both of them.

 

    “When your aunt and uncle came to me with you, they also wanted you to be a normal kid, and so did I. Being buddies with the Avengers isn’t exactly normal.”

 

   “But I’m _Spider-Man_ ,” he said, turning to give his father an exasperated look, “my life isn't exactly normal anymore.”

 

    Tony shook his head. “It doesn't matter. I'm your father and I don't need a reason.”

 

    Peter was quiet for a moment. Thinking carefully about what was to be said next.

 

    “Is it because of the accords? Because of Siberia?”

 

    When Tony didn't answer he took it as an invitation to continue.

 

   “They say don't meet your heroes,” he said, “But... they stopped being my heroes when everything happened last year.”

 

    An uncomfortable silence followed. Peter twiddled with his thumbs, suddenly finding the outside scenery to be the most interesting thing, while Tony stared straight ahead at the road, his white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel never weakening.  

 

    “The other's weren't wrong, kid-- well, not completely.”

 

   “Yeah, but--”

 

    “Nuh-uh, the adult is talking,”

 

   Peter huffed, slouching in his seat.

 

    “Do we need accountability as heroes? Yes. I said it then and I stand by it now.” Tony paused, taking a minute to think.

 

    “But the accords weren't perfect. I knew that-- I even told Steve they could be changed... But then he got upset about the Wanda thing... He acted stupidly, it happens. Doesn't mean he didn't have a point though, if the accords were left as was, that would have turned into a shitshow very quickly.”

 

    “What about Siberia?”

 

    “Mistakes were made.”

 

    “That guy killed your parents, and fucking Steve stuck a shield in your chest.”

 

    “Hey!” Tony snapped, “Watch your language.”

 

    Peter sputtered, “Really? That’s what you’re caught up on? How are you calm about this?”

 

    Tony shrugged. “I've had time to think.’

 

    Peter took in a shuddering breath, “When Ben was killed,” he began slowly, “I wanted nothing more than to hunt down and kill the guy.”

 

    Tony nodded. “Yes, I remember that. But remember, that guy acted on his own accord, James wasn’t. It's different.”

 

   Peter shook his head. “That's not what I'm trying to say. I-I’ve lost three parents, and I know how it feels, a-and I know that you don't lie, or try to cover up that shit.”

 

    Tony let out a long, drawn-out breath. “No, kid, you really don't. That was shitty.”

    

    Another drawn out uncomfortable silence followed. Peter pulled out his phone and half-heartedly started scrolling through some app, and Tony kept driving, looking at the billboards that flew by when they passed a sleep number advertisement.

 

    “How've you been sleeping lately?”

     Peter groaned. “ _Dad_ ,” he said in the typical teenage ‘please-don't-talk-to-me-about-things-I- don't-want-to-talk-about’ voice.

 

    Tony scoffed, “Don't ' _Dad,’_ me. It's a legitimate concern. I'm your father, I have a right to be worried.”

 

    “I'm _fine,_ ” he insisted, throwing his head back against the seat, “I got a whole six hours last night.”

 

    “You're supposed to be getting _nine._ ”

 

    “Why are you so worried about this?”

 

    Tony threw an incredulous look at the boy. “Why am I worried? Seriously, Peter? You wake up screaming in the middle of the night. Your aunt tells me you've haven't been sleeping as much as you should lately, that’s a problem.”

 

    “I'm fine _._ I mean, I've had _some_ trouble sleeping, but not as of late.”

 

   The father gave him a doubtful look but let the subject drop. He had Friday, she could tell whether the kid was telling the truth or not. And of course, May was more than capable of taking care of Peter when she had him. Maybe he should relax a little.

 

    At the lull in the conversation, Peter took the chance to put on some earbuds, and turned his head to look out the side window, a gesture that said, “I'm done talking to you, go away.” Tony rolled his eyes and turned the radio up to a level that would be heard over the music coming from his phone.

 

   Peter shot him an annoyed glance, and Tony made no attempt to hide his smirk.

 

    When they were coming up on the property, Tony turned the blaring music off and reached over to take one of the headphones out of Peter's ear.

 

    “Look alive kid,” he said, “We'll be there in… I don't know, five minutes?”

 

    Peter looked a little chafed from having his earphone ripped out-- because really, who does that-- but nodded anyway, sitting straighter in his seat and putting his headphones away.

 

    “When we get there,” Tony started, “I have to go straight to that meeting I was telling you about. Friday will tell you where to go. Stay on our floor, no wandering off.”

 

     He gave his son a look that said “Because I know you love doing exactly that,” Peter rolled his eyes but didn’t push on the subject. He knew perfectly well how both his father and his aunt felt about him meeting the Avengers, and by saying “Don’t wander off,” his dad actually meant “Don’t go getting seen by any of the others.”

 

    They didn’t go in through the main entrance because that would be _very_ obvious, so they instead went to one of the many alternative entrances that were reserved only for Tony, one that he was pretty sure none of the others had discovered yet. He had designed a few different places of entry for the specific reason being his current situation: having to have Peter tag along with him. Was it extra? Yes. Did he care? Not particularly.

 

    He sent the boy off with a ruffle to the hair, promising he’d be back later, and that they’d watch a movie or something. Peter didn’t quite seem to care about their parting, as he was preoccupied with marveling at his new surroundings. Tony couldn’t help but be a little offended, because he was going to be stuck in a conference room with the Avengers for six hours, and his own son was too busy looking at a _wall_ to give him the time of day.

 

    Well, he soon wished that it was later rather than now because he’d much rather be watching a Star Wars movie he’s already seen eight times than stuck in some tense conference room where hostilities still ran high.

 

    “Stark.” Romanoff had said when he walked in, “You’re late.”

 

    The greeting was terse, and as Tony surveyed the room (Wanda, Wilson, Romanoff, Rhodey, Vision, and Cap were there,) he noted that the team was more than irritated with him, which was fair, he was an hour late-- but he didn’t really care.

 

    “What can I say?” He said, “Traffic was hell.”

 

    Steve frowned at him from across the room, “It's a Saturday morning, how bad was it really? And why didn't you just fly? That would've been faster and wouldn't have left everyone waiting on you for an hour.”

 

    The others, of course, wouldn't know that the circumstances of his arrival had been changed by the sudden acquisition of his reckless son for the weekend. Because Tony _had_ been planning to just fly a suit upstate, it would have been quicker, but he obviously couldn't fly with Peter. Even if he wanted to, he knew Peter wouldn't have it.

 

    For all the Avengers knew, Tony was just being an asshole with no concern other people's time, and since they couldn't exactly know the real reason, he might as well just play the part.

 

   “Hey,” he said with a shrug, “I have a flair for the dramatics. Being fashionably late and all that shit.”

 

    “Do you ever have _any_ consideration for others?”

 

    “Do you?” Tony said, fixing Rogers with a look that said more than words could convey.

 

    Steve didn't rise to the challenge, but he did return the glare at Stark that led the two men into a long and uncomfortable stare off that was awful for both them and everyone present.

 

    “Enough,” Natasha said, slapping her hands down on the table. “We haven't even started here and you two are already fighting. I'm sure the two of you will find plenty to fight about today, so save it, yeah?”

 

    The two backed off, muttering some half-baked apologies, that neither of them really meant.

 

    Natasha was right anyway, they disagreed about anything and everything. It wasn't just Steve and Tony, either. Despite the Avengers being back together, the lot of them very quickly split up into their respective teams, which left Tony with only Vision and Rhodey, and Romanoff being her own party.

 

    It was all one massive headache. When they talked about the accords, the fought. When they talked about the team being back together and where to go from there, they fought. When Tony's shitty attitude was brought up, they fought.

 

    By the end of it all, Tony swore he'd never complain about having to sit through Stark Industries meetings again, because compared to this, those were walks in the park.

 

   When discussions for that day was done, Tony clapped his hands together and announced, “Well, guys it's been hell. Same time tomorrow?”

 

    Silence and unamused frowns across the board. Sam coughed awkwardly, and Steve shook his head like a disappointed mother.

 

    Fortunately, the smothering silence didn't get to go on for more than a couple seconds at most before a series of _dings_ sounded from Tony's suit pocket.

 

 **_Peter:_ ** _you've been gone way too long_

 

 **_Peter:_ ** _i am about to die_

 

 **_Peter:_ ** _I'm hecking hungry_

 

 **_Peter:_ ** _if you do not make me food in twelve minutes I will be forced to take matters into my own hands_

 

 **_Peter:_ ** _vevskxjekdbalal_

 

    Tony smiled fondly at his son's antics. “Well, that's my cue to leave,” he said.

 

    He knew full well that that had just raised a bunch of questions, but he was more concerned about not coming back to find his nice kitchen completely destroyed at the hands of a ravenous spider child, than leaving the others in suspense or whatever.

 

    When he was on his way out, he stopped in the doorway on his way out to say, “Someone mentioned Barton was coming later tonight?”  Natasha nodded, so Tony continued, “Well then, send him my greetings. I’ll be on my own floor, do your best to steer clear-- not you Rodey-- but for the rest of you all: that _wasn’t_ a suggestion.”

 

\--

 

    “You couldn’t wait five minutes?” Tony said as he entered the kitchen.

 

    Peter looked up from where he was stationed on the counter, a family sized box of Froot Loops in hand, which he had filled with milk, because apparently, bowls weren’t a thing. He shrugged, looking unabashed.

 

    “You took too long.”

 

    He snatched to box from his son’s hands on his way to the medicine cabinet, “Milk better not be leaking all over my counters from this,” he peered inside to find that half the newly opened box of cereal had already been eaten in the short amount of time that it took for Peter to text him, and for Tony to get back, which-- big yikes.

 

    He knew the kid ate a lot, and he ate fast, and that was expected with his enhanced metabolism, but Christ, all that sugar in that amount of time, and with very little nutritional value, he might add-- a sharp pain shot through his head from his ever-present migraine. God, he needed aspirin, like, yesterday.

 

    Peter snatched the cereal back from his father, who was resigned to just let him have it, because you can’t exactly put away a family sized box of froot loops once it’s already half filled with milk.

 

    “So, how was your Avengers conference thing?”

 

    Tony groaned as he shook two tablets from the bottle. He swallowed them dry before putting the bottle back in the cabinet and slamming the door shut.

 

    “That bad, huh?”

 

    “You don’t know half of it, kid,” he said, eyeing Peter wearily.

 

    Peter hummed, his attention going back to his cereal, “Well at least you're done for the day, and you promised we’d watch a movie, so I was thinking Matilda.”

 

    Tony made a face, “Matilda?”

 

    “What do you have against Matilda?”

 

    “Nothing, I was just expecting you to say Star Wars or some shit, Matilda was not expected.”

 

    Peter shrugged, “Well if you would rather watch Star Wars again…”

 

    Tony put his hands up in a haste, not particularly eager to watch the Empire Strikes back for a fifth time. “No, no,” he assured, “Matilda’s fine, I’ll have Friday rent it.”

 

    Peter cheered, jumping off the counter and booked it to the living room, Tony followed behind, wondering where Peter got his seemingly endless supply of energy, because Tony was always tired, and now Peter was making him feel old, which frankly was just rude.

 

    Two hours later, though, the kid was fast asleep, and Tony had to wonder where all his previous energy had just gone. He was dead tired too, _that_ was sure, but Peter was a teenager, and teenagers were not supposed to knock out cold on their father’s shoulders at eight o’clock in the evening. He remembered with a frown that Peter had mentioned earlier getting six hours like it was an achievement, and Tony realized the kid must’ve been missing out on sleep again (so he _was_ right earlier, and Peter was a liar).

 

    He supposed that right in that moment, it didn’t really matter, because at least he was sleeping now, and Tony couldn’t help but smile, because lately, Peter had picked up the habit of shooting webs at Tony’s face if he even got near him. May had laughed when he told her this, and assured him that he was just going through that “I’m too old to hug my parents phase,” and that she got the same treatment.

 

    That sucked for them though, their kid wanting nothing to do with them, like that didn’t hurt at all. He’d get over it, because it _was_ just part of being a teenager. And he was lucky too, lucky that Peter hadn’t turned out like him, because at least he didn’t have to worry about his kid going out and getting shit faced drunk.  It was a nice moment though, and he was at least grateful for that.

 

   Of course with Tony, all good things must come to an end, and that they did. One moment he was sitting there enjoying some quiet with his sleeping child, and the next minute--

 

    “Hey Stark, I was told you were sulking, and honestly, I was kind of offended when you didn’t-- whoa, what the hell?”

 

    Tony quickly shushed Barton, gesturing to the sleeping teenager next to him, the sign all parents knew as “Hush! Baby sleeping!” But then it clicked and, wait, what the hell?

 

    “What the fuck?” Tony said, glaring accusingly at the offending person. Peter stirred at the noise, he leaned away from his dad and blearily examined the current situation. It took the kid a second, but when he processed what had just happened, and who was standing in his father’s living room, his eyes grew comically large.

 

    “Peter, go to your room,” Tony said.

 

    Peter looked like he wanted to argue, but Tony fixed him with that “Do not test me” look, so he trudged back to his room.

 

    When the bedroom door had opened and closed, and Friday confirmed that the teen was in fact in his bed, he turned wildly to Clint.

 

    “What the hell are you doing here?”

 

    “Uh.. Why am I at the Avengers compound? Well everyone is getting back together, and I was told I should be here for this, so...”

 

     “Why are you on _my_ floor.”

 

    Clint shrugged, “I don’t know. To say hi? The others were pretty much egging me on up here, I’m guessing they were told to stay away?”

 

        “Yes,” he said through grit teeth, “Yes, they were.”

 

    Clint shrugged again, “Oh well. Oops. Nice kid by the way, is he yours?”

    

“No, Barton, I just let random teenagers hang out in the compound and drool all over my jackets.”

 

    Clint put his hands up to placate him, “Alright, alright, I was just making sure-- how long have you had him?”

 

    “Since before any of you came along,” he scoffed, not wanting to go into specifics about his family past with fucking Barton.

 

    Clint sputtered a little, “Wait, are you serious? I assumed you would have just met him or something. How did no one else know-- and oh my god that actually explains a lot.”

 

    Tony glared at him, jerking back in offence at the suggestion that he hadn’t been present in his son’s life all this time. The headache that had started yesterday just kept getting stronger and stronger with each new situation. He groaned into his hands, and wondered how the hell things had even gotten to this point.

 

    “Hey,” Clint said, reassuring, “Secret dad club, Stark. I won’t tell anyone about this, but if your kid is in the compound, I wouldn’t expect to hold onto that secret for much longer.”

 

    Tony eyed him wearily, knowing he was probably right-- which sucked. He had no idea how the possible confrontation others would react if they found out about his son.

 

    The two stood there in silence, neither knowing where to go from there, Tony rubbed at his collar, and Clint glanced around the room, and down the hall Peter had just went down.

 

    He looked back at Tony, “So, he said,” wearing a shit eating grin, “Just to be clear-- that _isn’t_ a small agent?

 

    Tony picked up a throw pillow from the couch and pegged it at the other man’s head. “Get the hell off my floor, Barton.”

 

    The next day, Peter moped around the kitchen while Tony drank his coffee at the table.

 

    “How do we not have cereal?” He whined, opening and closing cabinets.

 

    “We did have cereal, you ate it all.”

 

    Peter frowned. “Well, why was there only one box?”

 

    Tony scoffed, “Because we’re only here till Tuesday, I don’t like cereal, and an entire family sized box of froot loops can feed one person for three days. You did this to yourself, kid.”

 

    Peter groaned, slamming a cabinet door shut, and dramatically draped himself across the kitchen counter. “I have no will to live.”

 

    Tony rolled his eyes. “Peter, get up, and don’t say that.” He walked over to the fridge and inspected it’s contents. He’d had it stocked before they came upstate, so there was a decent amount of food. He grabbed an orange from the crisper and threw it at Peter. “Here, have some fruit, it’s good for you.”

 

    “I want Froot Loops, not _actual_ fruit.”

 

    Tony hummed, “Sucks for you, Kid.”

 

    He grabbed the orange that Peter had pushed away, and forced it into his hand. “Eat,” he said, “I have to go, and Friday will tell me if you throw that away.”

 

    Peter scowled, Friday (and JARVIS when he was younger), had always been the bane of existence. Normal kids could discreetly toss their unwanted food to their dog or in the trash, Peter couldn’t. Friday would always snitch on him.

 

    “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, “I know the drill.”

 

    Tony smirked, “Good, then we’re on the same page. I’ll be back later,” he said, ruffling Peter’s hair as a goodbye. Peter pressed a quick hug to his side in return.

 

    “You better not take ten years, today,” Peter said, “I wanted to go in the lab but Friday said I couldn’t go in by myself.”

 

  “She’s doing her job then. I don’t trust that you won’t set the lab on fire if I’m not there.”

 

    Peter Pouted, “That was one time.”

 

   “Yeah, one time too many,” he said, “I’ll be back at three, stay out of trouble till then.”

 

    “And don’t set the kitchen on fire,” he called over his shoulder.

    ”It was _one_ time!”

   

     ---

 

    Tony was early when he got to the conference room, which would have been a surprise to everyone, had anyone else had been there. The only other team member there was Cap, nursing a cup of coffee.

 

   Steve was mid sip when  Tony had entered the room, so he choked on his coffee when he realized who had come in so early. Tony barely suppressed an eye roll at this, sure he wasn’t always very punctual, but it wasn’t like him being early warranted such a reaction.

 

    “Tony,” Steve spluttered, “You’re early.” He glanced at the clock sitting in the corner of the room, “like, fifty minutes early.”

 

    Tony shrugged, pulling out a laptop and setting it down in front of him. “I got up early, and I have work to do.”

 

    “Why?”

 

    “Why do I have work to do? I literally own Stark Industries, and I have all this avengers shit going on too.”

 

    “No. Why’d you get up early?”

 

     _Because of a certain spider child happened to wake up early._

 

“What, is having a decent sleep schedule not a thing anymore?”

    

    Steve narrowed his eyes, “Not for you.”

 

    Tony dismissed him with a wave of his hand. “I just got up early, and even if there was a greater reason, it really wouldn’t concern you, Rogers.”

 

    Steve looked a little offended for a second before schooling his expression back into place. He stirred his coffee and Tony turned his attention back to the computer in front of him. The next forty or so minutes were spent in an uncomfortable silence before the others started trickling in, some earlier than others. A few of them took a visible double take when they noticed Tony there before anyone else, and others had the decency to not to react because really, him being on time couldn't be  _that_ big a deal. Right?

    When Barton entered, Tony felt a spike of anxiety when he whispered something to Natasha, but the latter just laughed, and Tony was able to relax, because they were just talking. The way that friends do. He wasn’t exposing anyone’s secrets. It was fine.

 

    

    Throughout the meeting, Tony felt constantly on edge, waiting for the other shoe to drop-- for Clint to announce what he had learned to the rest of the team. But he wouldn’t do that, right? He had kids that he’d kept from the Avengers too, he wouldn’t do another parent dirty, like that. Right?

 

    It didn’t even make sense that only _now_ he was worried about anyone finding out about Peter. He’d had him for eleven years, and no one had found out. Maybe it was the fact that he was just a couple floors above them. All the other times he’d been with the team, Peter had been with May, or on a few occasions, Pepper had volunteered to look after him. This was an entirely new situation. He supposed that his constant unease could also be over their recent falling out. Over what happened in Siberia.

 

    Maybe he’d felt uncomfortable with his child being around the same man who’d protected the man who killed his parents.

 

    Minus Clint and Rhodey (and Rhodey was obviously a given,) no one even suspected that he might be hiding a secret child. They would have no reason to, and he wouldn’t give them a reason either.

 

    _Ding_

    

 

     **Peter:** _so hypothetically, i could drink clorox, right? Cause like with anyone else it would destroy their tissue, but I really think my enhanced healing could keep the bleach from corroding my cell tissue_

 

    **Peter** **_:_ ** _I mean not that I want to drink bleach but like,,, i could_

 

    “Oh, for christ’s sake,” he groaned aloud and all eyes turned to him. He mentally slapped himself when he realized he had voiced his frustration.

 

    “Nothing, it’s nothing,” he said, “Don’t mind me.”

 

    Steve, the current speaker, gave him a skeptical look, but nonetheless turned the attention back to the discussion, brushing past the disruption.

 

    Once the attention was turned back to the captain, he discreetly passed his phone to Rhodey who was in the seat next to him. ‘Should I be concerned?’ Tony’s face read. Rhodes turned his attention to the phone and snorted when he saw the texts.

 

    “I wouldn’t worry about it,” he whispered, handing the phone back to Tony. “He’s not stupid enough to try it.”

 

     Tony hummed, typing out a message in response. No, Peter wasn’t stupid at all, but sometimes Tony suspected he might have just a _little_ too much faith in his abilities.

 

**_Me:_ ** _You are not allowed around cleaning supplies ever again._

 

**_Peter:_ ** _oh cool you should tell may that_

 

**_Peter:_ ** _I won't have to clean the bathroom :)_

 

    “Who’s Peter?”

 

    Tony jumped at the voice right by his ear, and jerked his head to the side to see Natasha reading over his shoulder. “None of your business,” he snapped, “Geez, Romanoff, ever hear of privacy?”  

 

    She shrugged, “Ever heard of being discreet? Who’s Peter and why isn’t he allowed near cleaning supplies?”

 

    Tony sighed, and felt a slight bit of relief at the fact that she hadn’t seen Peter’s little “I could drink bleach comment,” because _that_ would certainly raise questions. He slipped his phone back in his suit pocket, “Mind your own business Romanoff,” he said.

 

    Tony turned his attention back to Steve, who looked like he was becoming mildly irritated with all the chatter. Natasha turned and raised an eyebrow at Clint, who in return, shrugged like he had no idea what any of that could have been about, a gesture she didn’t believe for a second. Clint had found what Stark was hiding last night, despite his claims otherwise.

 

    Well then. Natasha was a spy, she was trained to question everything. And if Clint wasn’t going to let her in on whatever secret Stark had sworn him to, she’d just find out herself.

 

\--

 

    It was late. So very late. Tony sat in the living room clutching a cup of coffee like someone was going to take it. He should be sleeping, or at least trying to, but something about lying in a dark room for hours on end just didn’t seem all that appealing. He sat with the TV on, playing ever so softly in the background. He’d sent Peter to bed about three hours ago, it was now three o’clock in the morning, and still, sleep evaded him like a student who’d seen their teacher out in public.

 

    He figured it was the stress, or the headache, or maybe it was the headache, and that headache had been caused by the stress. Maybe his insomnia had just came back with a vengeance. Maybe it was all the coffee he had been consuming-- is consuming. He might never know.

 

    He considered going down to his lab, maybe work on a suit, he still had to rewrite what Peter had changed in the Spider-Man suit, and that included making it harder for the kid to get in to too. The longer he thought about it, the better tinkering around in his lab sounded. It certainly beat just… sitting. Sitting was boring, not his style.

 

    Well then, that sounded like a plan. Too bad he was Tony Stark, because for the second time, plans don’t _ever_ work out for Tony Stark, so…

 

    “You’re hiding something Stark.”

 

    “ _Jesus_ fucking _christ!”_ Tony spun around so quick he could hear the air rushing past his ears. Coffee spilt everywhere, on his shirt, on his couch, on the floor-- God, what a mess.

 

    “ _Natasha,_ ” Steve chided, “I thought we agreed not to sneak up on him.”

 

    Tony sputtered, _“What?_ What the hell are you two doing up here?”

 

    “You’ve been acting weird,” Natasha said, “We want to know what the hell is going on with you.”

 

    Steve muttered something about phrasing things nicer, but agreed that yes, he was acting weird.

 

    Tony gave the pair an incredulous look, “I’m sorry but can we go back to the part where you thought it was a good idea to dismiss what I asked of you, and snuck up on me at what, three twenty six in the fucking morning?”

 

    Natasha shrugged, “Friday told us you were still up.”

 

    “Get off of my floor!”

 

    “Give us answers.”

 

    “Tony,” Steve started, “We’re just now getting the team back together, and you’re here keeping secrets.”

 

    Tony scoffed, “What? So you can have secrets but I can’t?”

 

    “This is about you, Tony, not me.”

 

    “Oh, get your head out of your ass, Rogers.”

 

    “You first.”

 

    “Both of you, shut up!” Natasha said, getting between the two.

 

    “Seriously? You come to my private quarters, and you’re going to tell _me_ to shut up?”

 

     “Tony…” She started, ever so carefully, “ Who is it that you don’t want us to meet?”

 

    “What? No one.”

 

    “Don’t lie, you’re no good at it,” She said, “You’ve been so adamant that no one comes up here, Barton clearly found out about _something_ up here, and there’s that Peter guy you were talking to earlier.”

 

    “Is it an enhanced person?” Steve asked, “A potential team member?”

 

    “What? No,” Tony said, “Nothing like that.”

 

    Nat quirked an eyebrow, “So it _is_ a someone.”

 

   “No! I am not hiding anything _or_ anyone from the rest of you, I don’t know why--”

 

    A panicked scream came from down the hallway where Peter’s bedroom was, capturing all three of thier attention. Steve and Natasha shared a concern glance, and Steve looked like he was ready to rush down the hallway to take on whatever danger there was head on.

 

    Tony threw up an arm to stop him, “Stop, it’s okay-- don’t follow me,” he said, taking off.

 

   They did follow, despite being told otherwise, but Tony didn’t have the time to tell them off as he threw his son’s door open.

 

    Tony’s heart ached when he saw the sight before him, Peter was sitting upright in bed with his knees curled to his chest. His breathing was ragged and his entire form trembled through tears.

 

    “Oh, buddy,” Tony tsked, rushing to his kid’s side, “It’s okay, Peter, you’re okay.”

 

    Peter looked up at the sound of his father’s voice. His eyes were watery and his lip wobbled, more tears threatening to spill out at any minute. He eyed Tony warily, almost like he didn’t believe he was real, afraid that him being there was just some trick.

 

  “You-you’re alive?” Peter asked.

 

    Tony frowned, “Of course I’m alive,” he said gently, he pulled peter into a tight hug, “I’m not going anywhere buddy.”

 

    Peter buried his face in his father’s shoulder, who in response just held him tighter. “I- I had a dream,” Peter choked out, “Y-you and May… dead. I-I-I was alone.”

 

    “Shh. Shh. It’s okay, Pete. We’re okay, you’re not alone.” He gently rocked the two of them back and forth, a move that both Tony and May had used to ward off bad dreams since Peter was little. It was a comforting gesture, and also extremely personal-- no other people outside Tony’s makeshift little family had ever seen him show anyone that much affection or comfort. So it was very uncomfortable for the father knowing that both Natasha and Steve were standing in the doorway gawking like a couple of idiots.

 

    He shot them a look over Peter’s head that said: “If you’d be so kind, pleasefuck off.”

Steve nodded, but sent him a look that said “this isn’t over,” before the two retreated back to the living room.

 

    Once they were gone, Tony returned his attention back to Peter who was slowing starting to relax, showing signs of returning fatigue. “You getting tired, kiddo?” Pete nodded against his dad’s chest, but made no move to let go.

 

    Sensing that Peter didn’t want to be left alone, he said: “Do you want to sleep in my room tonight?”

 

    Peter sighed a breath of relief, “Y-yes,” he spit out, and Tony felt a little relieved too, because he never did like leaving Peter by himself after these particularly rough nightmares.

 

    Peter was still very shaky, so Tony scooped him up and carried him the way to his room. On any other occasion, Peter would be mortified at having his father carry him like a baby, but in this instance, he let himself be carried, finding comfort in the protective gesture.

 

    Tony set Peter down on the side of the bed that Pepper generally used when she was at the compound with him, and draped the blanket over his shoulders. “I’ll be right back,” he said, running a hand through Peter’s curls, “Do you want the light on?”

 

    Peter didn’t answer, already falling back to sleep very quickly, so Tony had Friday leave the lights on for him-- just in case.

 

    When he returned back to the living room, he found Natasha and Steve bickering.

 

    “You were a shield agent! How did you miss him having a child?”

 

    “I wasn’t _looking_ for a kid, I was scoping him out for the Avengers Initiative.”

 

     Steve scoffed, “Really, Nat? It’s a child, you don’t just miss that! If you’re scoping someone out for something, a good thing to notice would be them having a son, I think.”

 

    “In her defense,” Tony intervened, “The kid was staying with his aunt and uncle when all that shit went down. And it’s not like you ever noticed either, Rogers.”

 

    “Tony, you’re back.” Steve greeted, Tony brushed past him, making to sit on the couch where he could put his face in his hands.

 

    “The kid’s aunt and I worked real hard to keep the fact that he’s my son under wraps. His name isn’t even legally Stark.”

 

    Tony glared at them, “You know, there’s a reason I wanted to keep him from you guys. And when someone tells you to stay on your own floor? There’s a reason for that too.”

 

    Steve frowned, “We’re sorry, Tony. We were afraid you might be doing something reckless. Natasha was pretty spot on about you hiding someone rather than something… But yeah, we’re sorry.”

 

    Tony grunted, neither accepting nor out right rejecting the apology.

 

   “So, we have a lot to talk about.” Nat said, Tony nodded.

 

    “Yeah, we do-- but not tonight, I’m tired and I’m going to bed.”

 

    “Tony, you can’t just drop a bombshell like that, and then not explain,” Steve argued.

 

    “I will bring it up tomorrow, Rogers, so the entire team can discuss it. But right now, it is well past three in the fucking morning, my kid just woke up screaming-- I’m going to bed. You two should do the same.”

 

    Steve sighed, “Fine. Good night Tony, let’s go, Nat.”

 

    Natasha, who hadn’t had a lot to say about the revelation, gave Tony a long lasting look before following Steve. Once they were gone, Tony breathed out a long sigh of relief, and brought a hand to his temple, because Christ, this headache was never going to go away.

 

    He guessed all of that meant working in the lab was now off, but he didn’t really care that much, because all of his energy had been sucked out with a fucking vacuum cleaner after all that.

 

    Tony thought as he climbed into bed next to Peter, that the only bright side to all this was that at least he’d be able to go back to Manhattan tomorrow.

 

    He ran a hand through Peter’s hair as the boy slept peacefully curled against his side, and he smiled. It was a moment like the one last night where Peter had fallen asleep on his shoulder, only this time, Barton wasn’t there to barge in and ruin that. He frowned thinking about Clint, and the rest of the avengers. They would know about Peter now-- that was an eleven year old secret that had just been tossed out the window (he blamed Peter.) He wasn’t sure how he felt about that, nervous for sure. And he was a little worried about breaking that news to May, (though she didn’t seem like she really cared all that much on Friday).

 

  And well, despite any uncertainty he had right about then, he did know one thing: this headache? It was never going away.


End file.
